


Donkey Punch

by nischi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Smut, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, donkey punch, i guess, im so sorry, its not that predominant, ive never put much thought into tags on websites and im probably not about to start tonight, thats the main theme really, what an original title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nischi/pseuds/nischi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea was crack, I tried to make it read like crack, I failed, then I succeeded.  </p>
<p>John and Sherlock get a little experimental, and I'm so sorry for butchering it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Donkey Punch

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a really stupid idea that I told a friend I would write almost 2 years ago, and I decided the other night, "why the hell not?"
> 
> Greatly appreciate any useful feedback, it's only been half-beta'd

“Head or kidneys?” 

John was confused, and looked up from the newspaper. “Head or what?” he asked. 

Sherlock observed from his desk where he had been rifling through some papers. “Head or kidneys?” he repeated, a little more exasperated than the first time. “You used to be a rugby player, yes?” he added, as if it clarified the inquiry. John blinked, and replied slowly. 

“Yeah, I was in the rugby squad for a few years while I was studying medicine, why do you ask? What do you mean, ‘head or kidneys’? ” Though John had been living with Sherlock for a while now, and he had come to have a better understanding of just how his mind worked, its ticks and jumps were, most of the time, logical and relatively easy to follow; now and again there occurred a moment when Sherlock’s methods seemed as alien as could be. 

Sherlock stood up from his stool, swiftly bringing his hands to his face, palms pressed together and index fingers barely scraping the bow of his top lip. As he rose his dressing gown billowed out around him in a rather mundane manner, and yet somehow it made him look mature and indefinably attractive. John still couldn't wrap his mind around this charm, but he also could not deny its existence and therefore did not try to. 

"I've been looking through various research options to fill my time in lieu of finding another case, and now that I have a willing test subject some of the more... Actively partaken subjects can now be investigated." Sherlock, who had previously been looking everywhere around the room except from making eye contact, very suddenly focused on John's steady gaze, not blinking nor breaking the intensity, and said, "that is, provided that you are willing to help me..?"

John blinked; once, twice, then nodded. He knew that, whether he agreed or not, John was bound to end up in the middle of some experiment anyway. Might as well give consent and be involved from the get-go than to be investigated without his knowledge. 

"Yeah alright, what are we investigating this time, then?" John closed his paper and placed it back down on the coffee table, slumping back further into the armchair. 

Sherlock moved almost imperceptibly closer to John, keeping the visual connection between the two men as strongly as he could. "I wish to prove or dispel a myth that is currently... Lacking in evidential foundations". 

John leaned his elbow on the armrest, his hand cupping his chin. "What sort of myth? If it's about exercise and adrenaline stopping you from feeling a head butt straight in the groin then I can definitely help you out there and would really rather not have to live through that again..." 

"No, no, no, nothing of the sort," Sherlock shook his head side to side like a pendulum. "Now, I shall repeat the question - were you to be punched, which area would be more amenable, the head or the kidneys?"

\-------

Nerves bristled through John's skin like a wiry old broom; he hadn't been nervous after accepting the proposal but as time passed and Sherlock began to prepare for whatever the experiment entailed his nerves started to get the better of him. He had attempted to go back to reading the paper, but it proved impossible to concentrate so instead he watched as his flatmate sifted through various notebooks and sheets of paper. It wasn't until he lifted a tripod that John decided to interrupt.

"Uhh, what do you need that for?" He asked, hesitantly. 

Sherlock turned, eyes slow to focus as if he was noticing John sitting there for the first time. "Science, John. If I am participating, I must record the data in order to interpret it." He tutted and continued pottering about the flat, piling up and tearing down this book and that, and John exhaled. Surely it wasn't going to be that bad, right? Sherlock wouldn't grievously harm him, they were friends! Hell, John wondered if they were more than that, sometimes, but he had never had occasion to ask. Nor did he particularly want to know, for fear of receiving the answer he did not want. Sherlock started fiddling with the tripod.

John boiled the kettle and settled his nerves with a cup of tea. After another half hour, the sun had set and night time was creeping in through the long windows, lengthening the shadows and drooping John's eyes. 

"Okay, everything is set." John blinked his eyes open and Sherlock stood proudly in front of him, hands on hips, nose held high. He had the look of a determined man, and John silently thanked his lucky stars that he had had a restful sleep the night before. 

\--------

"So, uhh... What do I need to do?" John’s hands drummed nervously in thin air, flexing, tensing. He was swaying side to side, gently like a breeze was blowing in the middle of the flat. John wished he had had time to grab a drink of something with a high proof. Why did he agree to this? What exactly did he agree to? He still wasn’t sure. 

Sherlock was jittering around him, pulling bottles out from all over the room. They all looked quite similar from where John was standing, but some clearly hadn't met Sherlock's standards and were thrown back to the dark depths from where they had been picked up, probably never to be seen again. 

"Okay seriously now, I've been waiting around all afternoon are we going to get started or not?" John's nerves were beginning to fray. 

Sherlock shuddered to a halt, and slowly turned his head towards John. Something flashed behind his eyes - a brief glimmer - and then was gone again. John blinked in confusion. 

"Can you turn the lights off? The curtains are open, that should be plenty of light for this," Sherlock spoke, clearly and calmly. John rose from his armchair and flicked the switch; the tremor in his hand had been stilled by the thrill of the unknown. He heard the discrete rattle of something paper or cardboard dropping on a table somewhere, and relaxed his muscles. Whatever was about to happen, he had trust in Sherlock. Of course he did, would he still be here if he didn't? 

Crisply and quietly came a voice, "alright, now, pull down your trousers."

John blinked. '...what? Sorry, I think I mis--' 

"I said - your trousers. Pull them down.” 

Slowly, John took off his socks. One by one, he placed them over the arm rest of the chair that was still warm from use all afternoon. They were a little frayed from abuse and probably needed to be thrown out, but John was sentimental - he held on to his possessions. He looked up, and could only see Sherlock's silhouette framed by the moon waxing in through the window, suddenly grateful that he wasn't standing next to one. 

Somewhere off to the side John thought he saw a red LED, but blinked and it seemed to disappear. Trick of the light, probably. John shook his head slightly. 

"I really don't understand why this is necessary; can't I just do this with my trousers on?" John hesitated, his hands clasping the button. 

"Off, John." Said a distant voice that John barely recognised. John felt a sudden surge of... anger? That Sherlock was giving him a command. ...shock? It wasn't a request, it was an outright order. 

...arousal? 

John's face flushed slightly, his brows furrowing. He could feel a prickling, his blood heating up a little. No, no - it was definitely anger. 

Harnessing that feeling, John yanked his field grey trousers down with haste, stepping each foot out and kicking them away in some direction. He squared up his shoulders and stood as tall as he could, feet wide and fists grasped by his sides. 

If Sherlock thought he could be pushed around, he had another thing coming. 

John felt a cold shiver blow across his legs, suddenly very relieved that, unlike his worn out socks, he took more care in renewing his selection of briefs. That being said, he was also currently wishing that today he had opted for less revealing boxer shorts. 

A hesitant cough from across the room brought John back to the moment. "Alright, okay, trousers are off. What, do you plan on throwing water at me or something? If so I'd rather take my shirt off too, no point in--"

"No, no! That's fine. You're fine, John." John saw the swish of Sherlock’s blue dressing gown pass by the window, and he breathed in sharply. Puffing up his chest, John tried to stand his ground. Then he realised, he was in his own flat, standing around in the dark with his flatmate. What ground did he need to defend? 

As he exhaled, behind closed eyes John sensed movement. He felt a gentle stroke down both his arms, his thick, burgundy flannel shirt shifting slightly from the touch. 

Opening his eyes, John tried to ask, "What are you doing?" But only got as far as, "wh--?!" Before he was stunned into silence by a mouth pressed firmly against his. 

"Mmph! --Sher --ahh, sh-shit" John gasped for breath, each second causing him to feel more and more intoxicated. His reactions had slowed, eyelids closing again with a heady sluggishness. Long arms wrapped round John’s back, and John's arms were trapped to his sides. Fists uncurled and fingers reached out for purchase, John was only able to grasp the silk blue gown. 

Twisting his fingers into the soft material, John pulled down hard. The sudden yank pulled Sherlock away from John's ever-pinking mouth, both of them panting, eyes wide. "What... Hfff... Wh-what... Was that… For?" Sherlock untangled his arms from behind John’s back, and tried to back away but was roughly grabbed by John. Hands trembling, grip tight, John repeated, "What… What are you doing?" 

Sherlock's head fell between the two, drooping in shame. "Science, John. It's an experiment. I need... Data... And I thought, if it was with you..." His statement fell quiet, deflated. John let go of Sherlock’s arms and stepped back a little. 

He sighed. "Look, Sherlock. It's not... I just... Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock's shoulder twitched a little. It looked like a small, dejected shrug. After having gone red because of the kiss, John thought he couldn't look more embarrassed. As he stumbled over his words he found this to be proved wrong, even the tips of his ears starting to blush. "I uhh... I never asked you to stop..." 

Sherlock's ears prickled and he looked up in earnest. His clear eyes widened with an intense glare, searing them into John’s memory. A slow, sly, lop-sided smirk creeped over his face then, with hooded lids, Sherlock asked, "Does that mean I can continue?" 

John swallowed hard. Pursing his lips, he sniffed and nodded. 

"Good, because it looks like you were really starting to enjoy that", Sherlock whispered, his right hand sliding down John's stomach to his groin. Evidently, he had been enjoying the attention more than he was letting on. John hissed a little, caught off-guard by Sherlock's unexpected confidence. Sherlock's palm rubbed up against the tip of Johns cock, and the sudden pressure caused him to arch further into Sherlock's hand. 

"Sherl-- ahh!" 

"Oh dear... We might have to do something about the noise... Don't want Mrs Hudson coming to check up on us, do we?" Sherlock leaned closer into John, cheek to cheek, and whispered into his ear, "Do you trust me?" 

Sherlock's hand ground against John’s dick even harder, and John let out a shuddered breath. "Yes, oh, Christ's sake, of course I trust you, just bloody get on with it will you?"  
Sherlock giggled, but his deep voice resonated in John’s ear causing vibrations throughout his whole body. John's knees started to tremble, just slightly. Sherlock wrapped his other arm around John’s back and lowered him to the ground. As Sherlock moved away, John reached out for his arm. 

"Don't worry", Sherlock chuckled, reaching over to the table. "I'm not going anywhere." He picked up a small box - the cardboard one John had heard earlier - and a small bottle that was sitting next to it. 

Bending down in front of John, Sherlock spoke, "Now, about that noise..." Very slowly, he untied his dressing gown. The soft fabric fell apart loosely, and John could see Sherlock's torso by the pale moonlight. He was still wearing his pyjama bottoms, and John remembered he himself was still wearing a shirt - at least he wasn't the only one half dressed. Sherlock swiftly pulled the cord from its place around the gown, and looked back to John. "Hands out, wrists together", he instructed. 

John's hands shot forward, mesmerised by the dark man in front of him. Had Sherlock always been so commanding? And more importantly, since when had John followed his orders? Sherlock begun to wrap John’s wrists, only enough give to allow him to twist his hands a little and no more. His hands had been tied in front of him, and that relaxed John a little - his shoulder probably wouldn't have been able to handle his hands being tied behind him. Maybe he would need to start physiotherapy again, so they could explore that option... 

A sharp slap to John’s cheek stung him. His face burned hot from the contact, and the nerves sent the stimuli straight to his crotch. "Huh, never expected that response" Sherlock smirked, nudging the growing erection with his foot. 

"Before we shut you up, there's something you'll have to see to..." Sherlock opened up the box and three a packed down at John’s feet. "I'm sure you'll be able to open that with your teeth - just watch you don't tear it, mind you". John picked up the condom packet and his face fell. The realisation of what they were about to do hit him, and he stalled. He felt his head get tilted back, Sherlock's large hand pulling under his chin, his thumb cupping his cheekbone. Sherlock drew him into another deep, wet kiss. Where was the harm in giving a little back..? 

John picked up the packet in his hands, bringing it towards his mouth. He had to rip the packet open with his teeth; there wasn't enough leeway in his wrist restraints to open it by hand. 

Sherlock's voice caught in his throat. John switched from sitting down on his backside to crouching on his knees, and leant forward. Looking straight up into Sherlock’s eyes, John nuzzled against Sherlock’s crotch. He teased against the elastic waistband, and slowly, slowly pulled it down far enough that Sherlock's erection sprung loose. 

John brought the condom he had been holding up to the tip of Sherlock's cock, and began to roll it on. Sherlock cleared his throat and John put his hands back down again, resting them across his thighs. Carefully, John began to unroll the thin protection around Sherlock's cock, licking and snuffling slowly along the length. Sherlock breathed out shakily and, just for good measure, John pulled back only to swallow as far as he could in one fell swoop - catching Sherlock off guard and garnering an aroused yelp. 

Strong hands grabbed John’s short hair, pulling him closer to Sherlock's groin. John choked a little and pulled back away from the other man, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Sherlock walked away, leaving John to clear his throat and wipe his eyes. When he came back, Sherlock was holding his scarf. 

"Let's make sure that nobody can hear the cute little moans you're making, those are reserved for me alone", Sherlock sneered. He gagged John, wrapping the scarf round his head once, twice, letting the ends hang down John’s front. Sherlock unbuttoned the top half of John’s plaid shirt, and marvelled at the view. 

\-------

Sherlock ran his hands up and down John's back inside his shirt, the feel of skin on skin sending a buzz through both men. As his hands drew close to John’s lower back, Sherlock slipped them inside the waistband of John's briefs. He cupped John’s right buttock, and nudged gently at his entrance. Pulling the elastic band down, slowly, agonisingly, he slid it down until the briefs were down around John's knees - knees which were forming the beginnings of carpet burn from kneeling so long. John whimpered, the noise muted by the thick cotton scarf, the distance between himself and Sherlock close enough that only Sherlock could hear those moans. 

Sherlock prodded a slender finger at John's hole. 

"Have you ever done this before?" Sherlock groaned, "Gave yourself up to another man, gave into the pleasure?" John bucked his hips in response, unable to reply with words due to the scarf binding him. His hands were still pressed down on the floor, bound tightly, and John felt vulnerable. He was on all fours, his shirt open, chest and backside exposed, panting slightly out of fear and arousal.

A harsh slap fell across John’s backside. He jumped, waving his ass higher in the air. John let out a cry. Sherlock leaned against John’s back, bending over on all fours, stroking John’s taut stomach muscles. 

He pulled away for a minute and slicked up the fingers on his right hand. The cool liquid dripped down the back of John’s leg, making him shiver. Sherlock pushed the tip of his index finger in, twisting and thrusting it. As he added a second finger, John’s keening increased, though it was muffled by the scarf. 

"You're so tight back here, huh?" Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. "I imagine you enjoy it rough, don't you? Feeling as much of the burn as you can" 

Sherlock thrust his fingers in deep, adding a third. He stretched them out as much as he could, opening John up. Pulling out, he heard a small whine from underneath. "Don't worry, you'll get your prize for being a good boy soon enough". Sherlock picked up the bottle of lubricant lying beside him and slicked up his cock. After coating the entire length, he brought it close to John’s backside, rutting between John’s cheeks. John’s breathing became heavier, and Sherlock took his time; entering John’s stretched hole with a slow agonising pace. 

Once fully sheathed, Sherlock began to pump in and out, gaining speed as the small entrance warped to accommodate him. With each thrust in, John groaned, his whole body shaking. 

Sherlock held on firmly to one hip, and reached round to grab John’s neglected cock that was beginning to leak. He stroked it tenderly at first, teasing the head, then harder and grasping more firmly as John began to moan loudly around the gag. Leaning over John, both men on all fours, Sherlock muttered gently in his ear, "I've almost reached my climax, all thanks to your pretty, accommodating arse; I hope you're pleased. Are you nearly there?" John nodded his head frantically, arms shaking with the tension of two grown men leaning on them.

Sherlock kept pumping harder and faster, twisting his fist around John’s plump cock. John's body went rigid, came all over Sherlock's hand, and then fell to his elbows panting softly. Sherlock wasn't finished however, and pulled John up to his feet, leaning him over the armrest of John’s armchair. 

Continuing to thrust in and out of his now sensitive partner, Sherlock was on the verge of coming. He kept pounding with determination, then lifted his right fist and clocked John over the head, knocking the man out cold. 

John collapsed, passed out, across the armchair. 

\-------

When John Watson came to, he was lying back in the armchair that he normally read the paper in; his feet were propped up on a stool that he was sure he had never seen before and he was wrapped up in a cosy blanket. Had he been holding a newspaper he would've been almost certain he had just fallen asleep right there, but it was folded neatly across the room on another table. It was still dark outside, and it wasn't until he tried to move that he felt a dulling pain from both his backside and the back of his head. 

"Oww..." He hissed, bringing his hand up to his neurocranium to assess any damage. No blood on his fingers was a good sign, at least. Sherlock popped his head out from the kitchen. 

"Oh good, you're awake. I was beginning to think you would be out ‘til morning." Sherlock disappeared and then came out with two hot mugs of tea, and brought one to John. Gingerly, John took the gift and relaxed a little. 

"What exactly happened and why is my head throbbing like you played your violin out of tune again?" John sunk even lower into the armchair. 

Sherlock picked up his mug and sipped it, graciously. "Have you ever heard of a donkey punch?" John shook his head, then remembered the ache in his skull wistfully. "I came across it a few weeks back, merely by accident. It was a rather interesting discussion I overheard near a school--" John waved his hand in dismissal, and Sherlock took that to mean 'yes, yes, get to the point'. "Anyway, it is defined as 'the sexual practice of inflicting blunt force trauma to the back of the head or lower back of the receiving partner during anal or vaginal sex, as an attempt by the penetrating partner to induce involuntary tightening of one of the anal sphincter muscles or vaginal passage of the receiving partner.' I had hoped to find a suitable partner to test this hypothesis; however no-one presented themselves more readily than yourself did. For that, I should be thankful as you have allowed me to come to an enlightened conclusion." 

John's eyes closed, and he sighed really loudly, quite full of regret that he had inadvertently volunteered himself for some such 'experiment'. "Dare I ask what your findings were, or should I just try and move past the whole event?" He sighed, ruefully. 

Sherlock stood up tall and proud, and exclaimed, "I will readily accept the opinion of one Dr. Jeffrey Bahr of Medical College of Wisconsin, who states that 'there is no reflex in humans that would cause such tensing in response to a blow on the head, although striking a partner on the back of the neck or head could cause severe, even lethal injury.'" He threw his nose in the air and exhaled through it, then added, "I am also rather glad that you did in fact wake up so soon, indicating that my punch was not as lethal as I feared it may have been. Though I am tall, my arms lack--"

"Sorry, wait, you're saying that you were just testing all this out on me? I was your guinea pig? You didn't even know how much force would cause a 'lethal injury'?" John's temper was rising; the hot mug of tea left abandoned on a coaster somewhere. "You seduced me into an experiment, just because you wanted to see what would happen? Well thank bloody God my damn anal sphincters didn't tense up and allow you to pleasure yourself!" 

Sherlock looked forlorn, and John felt bad for a moment. Only a moment, mind you, before he started up again. "Hang on; I thought I saw a red light out the corner of my eye. Did you fucking film this as an experiment?!" 

Sherlock's gaze drifted slowly to the window, and lifted his mug to his mouth, saying nothing. Murmuring into his tea, he might have said, "I used a night vision camera…" 

"I can’t believe it! And here I thought you actually had a genuine emotional feeling for once." John felt downcast, and though he could not possibly sink any further into the armchair, he certainly felt like he was sinking into an abyss of disappointment. 

"Well... It wasn't entirely for scientific purposes..." John looked up to find Sherlock blushing really hard, still staring right out the window, gaze focused on nothing in the dark of the night. "I could've gone out and found somebody to take part... But I really... It was the only way I could think to express… certain… feelings I have." 

John stood up, faster than he should've, and winced. He walked over to the counter Sherlock had been leaning against, and pulled the man in for a sweet kiss. Whispering into Sherlock's ear, he could feel the embarrassment seeping out of the red-hot cheeks, John said, "in which case I hope you bought enough film, because we're gonna have to repeat that experiment to have some reliable results."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really, really sorry
> 
> https://38.media.tumblr.com/231e11cab994034a6e45a6d4945fa63c/tumblr_nhizv5mSs21r6vccjo1_1280.jpg
> 
> If anybody wants the background to this, one time we helped out in a class of absolutely insane fourth years, and the one that very much resembled a blond brick wall with a Tarantino obsession started discussing this. I have never laughed harder in my life. I have also never been quite so feared for my life as when he Hulked out and upended a table.


End file.
